Lindsey Kelk - I Heart London

‘Of course you can,’ he said, fumbling in his pocket and producing a bunch of sparkly silver lifelines. ‘Are you all right?’

‘I couldn’t find the tomatoes,’ I mumbled, wiping at my grubby face with the sleeve of my stripy T-shirt, which was pulled down over the fists I couldn’t seem to relax. ‘Or the Mini Cheddars. Or the pasta.’ The fact that we were standing in front of about twenty-five bags of Mini Cheddars dented my credibility somewhat. My dad looked at me, looked at the snack aisle and then stepped to the side to look past me. I couldn’t bring myself to see if he was still there, but my dad’s angry bear growl confirmed that he was.

‘Sod’s law,’ he said, pressing the car keys into my hand. ‘Get yourself back to the car. I’ll get your mum’s things. Do you want anything?’

‘No,’ I whispered. ‘Thanks, Dad.’

All I wanted was to go home. And that did not mean back to my parents’ house.

Almost an hour after I’d slumped up the stairs and wrapped myself up in my childhood sheets, I was still wide awake. Cocking jet lag. I couldn’t remember when I had been more tired, but every time I closed my eyes, I just saw Mark grinning at me and that cow trying to get a good look through the car window from behind him.

For the want of something better to do, I sat up, huffed, puffed, opened my laptop and re-read the Gloss presentation. Again. After fifteen minutes of soothing stats, facts and numbers, I quickly flicked through all the other important things online − personal email, work email, Facebook, Perez Hilton, Bloomingdales.com … I was halfway through the purchase of a half-priced Theory shift dress when it all became a bit too much and a tidal wave of jet lag swept me under. As I slipped backwards against the pillows, I caught one last look at myself reflected in the screen and prayed I would wake up looking less like Jabba the Hutt on an off day.

‘Get out of bed, you lazy mare.’

My ears engaged before I could even attempt to open my eyes. Reaching out for Alex, all I felt was a cold, hard wall. The pillows felt wrong. And someone was eating pickled onion Monster Munch. I rolled over and pried open one eye to see Louisa leaning against my bedroom door in boyfriend jeans and a sky-blue T-shirt with her hair high on top of her head in a ponytail. In the blink of an eye, I was fifteen again.

‘Fuck off, I’m tired,’ I said with happiness in my voice, rolling back towards the wall. ‘Leave the crisps. I’m also starving.’

‘Good job I brought you some, then. You look shit.’

A crinkly packet landed square on my head and it was all the incentive I needed to force myself awake.

‘Sorry I couldn’t meet you at the airport.’ Louisa bounded onto my bed like a golden Labrador and wrapped her arms round my neck. ‘Grace hasn’t been well and I couldn’t leave her with Tim. He’s such a wimp when she cries.’

‘And where is she now?’ I asked, returning the hug with such strength I was worried I might break her. At last, something good to come out of this trip. ‘You didn’t leave her in the car, did you? Because that’s really bad parenting.’

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